


a memory, a nightmare

by vennix



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), theyre in love, this is really disjointed and difficult to read my bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vennix/pseuds/vennix
Summary: It started with a nightmare.Was that right?Was it a nightmare, or was it something dragged up from the past; a memory pressed back and forgotten with every intention of it never resurfacing? It was too hard to tell, too hard to think, to breath, to focus, to exist and remember. Jon could hear his heart beating so very quickly in his ears. It didn’t match up with the room spinning so very slowly.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	a memory, a nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for panic attacks and self loathing.

It started with a nightmare.  
  
Was that right?

Was it a nightmare, or was it something dragged up from the past; a memory pressed back and forgotten with every intention of it never resurfacing? It was too hard to tell, too hard to think, to breath, to focus, to exist and remember. Jon could hear his heart beating so very quickly in his ears. It didn’t match up with the room spinning so very slowly.

Or did it? Did they compliment each other? Did the slow spinning of the room go with the rush of blood, of panic, in his ears? Was the room even spinning in the first place?

_No_. Jon shook his head, as if he could shake the deafening thoughts out of his all too quiet head, out of the all too quiet room. He would decidedly _not_ be feeding the spiral, especially when it hurt to think about the most basic of things. That thought only made him shake harder.  
  
_He was feeding the spiral. If he couldn’t stop that, something Gertrude could’ve protected herself from without so much as a blink, maybe it was right for him to feed it, to be nothing but a tool to be used by the fears. Maybe it was right to be disgusted with himself; for everyone to be disgusted. He’d gone through so much, and he couldn’t stop it.  
_

_Just like Jane Prentiss' attack.  
_

_Just like Sasha's death.  
_ _  
Just like Melanie getting trapped in the archives.  
_

_Just like the Unknowing._

_Just like Tim’s death.  
  
Just like Daisy and the coffin.  
  
Just like Martin and the lonely.  
  
_ _Just like-_

“Jon? What’re you doing up? It’s nearly half past five.” Martin. He sounded tired, and he probably had that half frown on his face that Jon liked to smooth over with his fingers. Yet, when Jon turned to Look at him, to reassure him everything was okay, he realised he couldn’t See him. Why couldn’t he See him? Where was he? What happened? Jon’s breathing picked up. Everything was slamming into reality. Every thread in the fabric of his pajamas, every creak of the floorboards, every leaf rustling outside, his breathing, his heart, his panic and his fear, it was all too much.

It was always too much.

Make it _stop_.  
  
He wanted to scream until his voice was lost.

The room flashed in front of him, too bright for his panic addled mind to register. He shut his eyes tight, worried that if he opened them, whatever had been in the dark, whatever had been beyond his Sight, would be so much worse than what he’d expected.

“Jon? Jon, it’s okay, you can open your eyes. It’s just me.” He couldn’t help it; Martin's voice was so warm. He’d risk the light, the blindness of it all, just to see the other. Jon peeled his eyes open, squinting in the harshness of it all.

Oh.  
  
The lights had been off.

Martin had turned on the light on the coffee table. When had he gone to the living room? When had he curled on the couch? Was it always this dark outside? Jon went to hold his hands out to Martin, to hold onto him, to make sure he was _there_ and _real_ , only to find his hands tangled up in his hair, tugging painfully at his scalp.

“Martin?” The answering gentle smile held so much light Jon almost had to close his eyes again. He didn’t, though. He Looked at Martin like he’d disappear, letting out a shaky exhale.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” Jon practically fell forward into the man, sighing shakily when Martin ran his hands over his cheeks, brushing away the tears there. When had he started crying? It didn’t matter. It felt good to be warm. He only hoped he deserved it. He knew he didn’t. He desperately wanted to.

“Can you breathe with me?” Right, Martin. It took everything Jon had to focus on him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his steady heartbeat, his steady hands untangling the knots in Jon’s hair.

“Thank you.” Jon couldn’t tell how long it’d taken to force the words out. He could, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to Know more. Not again.

“Always. Can you tell me what happened?” Martin's voice was as gentle as his smile. Jon wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t deserve it. Jon wanted to sob, to fall into the man he loved most and tell him everything he could. Jon wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. But he didn’t. Instead, he pushed himself up. He took a breath in, tried to steady himself on the couch.

“I think… I think it was a nightmare. A memory, maybe. A memory turned nightmare. A nightmare becoming reality.” It took so much energy to force it out, only for it to come out nonsensical. Martin understood, though. He always did. Even when it wasn’t worth it. Even when Jon wasn’t worth it.

“Jon, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re together.” And he was right. Such a simple sentence, a simple fact. Anyone could say that, really. They were there, and they were together. Did it always hold that same weight? Jon couldn’t tell.

“Yeah. Just... thank you.” Martin just smiled. He knew the weight of the words, of each syllable and sound.

“Don’t thank me, love. Just- just come back to me, okay?” It was Jon’s turn to smile, albeit significantly more shaky.

“As if I’d ever leave you.” Martin pulled Jon on top of himself, chuckling softly as Jon almost fell face first into his chest. And they stayed like that.  
  
Steady.

Quiet.

Still.

It wasn’t a restless calm, not like the calm before a Hunt began, but the calm where they could pretend, just for a moment, they were normal people who made tea for each other and pointed out all the good cows.

And maybe they could be. Jon liked the thought. Perhaps he could indulge himself in the fantasy.

Just for a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this at 4am so I’m very sorry for how weirdly worded it is!!  
> Talk to me on tumblr @vennixxxx


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